My Bonny Light Horseman (6 page)

"Yes, the Caribbean was most rich in new species. I look forward to discussing them with my learned colleagues at the Royal Society upon our return."

Batting the eyelashes, I go on. "And next to them—forgive me, Doctor—there were some rather clumsy drawings."

"It is true, I do not have much of the limner's skill," he admits, stiffly. "But I needed to try, for some of my findings were quite perishable."

"Yes, but I do have that skill, Sir, and I also have my colors, brushes, and good paper right there in my seabag," I say in a rush of words. "I could do the drawings for you under your direction. You would have a fine portfolio to show your fellow naturalists and maybe even publish, and if I could get out of this pesthole for even a few hours a day to accomplish the task, oh, Sir, it would do wonders for my constitution!"

"Publish, eh?" he murmurs, fingers to chin, thinking.
That nailed him,
I'm thinking.

"Doctor, if I am kept here in this dampness and gloom for the entire voyage, you would have no fine illustrations of your work but only my poor body to dissect because I will surely take sick and die." I work up a few tears on that.

"This is, indeed, a sty. Close to what Dante envisioned as one of the lower levels of Hell." He looks about and continues to muse upon what I have offered.

"And I do have some Science, Sir, having been somewhat educated at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls in Boston. I know, for example, that the proper name for the black rat that was biting at my legs last night is
Rattus,
genus
Rattus,
family Muridae, order Rodentia, class Mammalia, phylum Chordata, kingdom Animalia, and I—"

"Very well, I shall talk to the Captain," says Dr. Sebastian. He turns and leaves the brig.

Oh, thank you, Mr. Sackett, for making us dissect those dead and disgusting rats in Science class!

***

It is not long after the changing of the Noon Watch, when the not-very-good company of Corporal Phillips has turned into the much more companionable Private William Kent, that a Marine Sergeant, a grizzled old veteran, comes into the hold. I had just discovered that Private Kent is also from Cheapside, and that we have quite a few names and places in common. I had been telling him, to his great satisfaction, of the swift end of Cornelius Muck, the Cheapside Ghoul, on board the
Wolverine,
when the Sergeant interrupts.

"'Avin' a bit of a chat wi' the bint, are ye, Billy?" growls the man to his subordinate.

"Just tryin' to bring the poor thing some cheer, Sergeant Gibbs," retorts Private Kent, once more back at Attention.

"Well, belay that and bring 'er out," says Gibbs. "Major Stebbins sez it's Captain's orders. Bind her up and let's take 'er up to 'is cabin. There's some manacles over there that'll serve."

The Private removes the cell key from his belt and thrusts it into the keyhole to open the door. I'm standing still wrapped in the blanket as I step out into the light of the lantern.

"Wait, William," I say, throwing off the blanket and pointing at my black dress that hangs on a hook on the bulkhead. I had taken it off last night and handed it out to Private Morris to keep it from the damp after I was brought back down into this pit. "Hand me my dress, if you would."

I cannot see by the dim light of the lantern, but I know he is blushing, which is silly, since I am covered in my undergarments from knee to chest, but what the hell. I pull the dress over my head and smooth it down. Then I turn my back to the young Marine. "Button me up, Billy. Sergeant, please hand me that hairpiece that hangs over there. Thanks."

I feel Billy Kent's fingers working clumsily at the buttons at the back of my neck. I can hear his breath there, too, and I smile to myself.
Oh, Billy, you silly boy, you.

"Sergeant, my hairpiece? Thanks."

I pull the wig on my head and fluff it up with my fingers. I can feel that it, too, is damp, but I do what I can with it.

"How do I look?" I ask, and I can tell from Billy's stunned look that I look good enough. I pinch my cheeks to pink them up and then stick out my wrists for the Sergeant to clap the metal cuffs on them.

They are snapped on and I say, "Lead the way, Sergeant," and I head up the gangway between the two soldiers.

I am blinded by the sudden bright light when we emerge on deck and so grab Billy's arm to steady myself. Well, I don't really have to, but I do it anyway. In a moment my eyes get used to it, and I see that we have a beautiful day up here with a good breeze and the
Dauntless
simply tearing along, all sails perfectly set and taut as drums. It sets my heart soaring to see her rip through the waves so clean and fast.
But it shouldn't, girl,
I tell myself,
considering where this ship means to take you.

On our way from the bow of the ship to the after part where the Captain's cabin lies, we pass sailors on deck and in the rigging attending to their tasks, and I hear, half whispered, half spoken...

It's her! That's Jacky Faber!

Are you sure?

'Course I'm sure.

Cor, wait'll I tell me kids I saw Jacky Faber, her ownself, with me very own eyes.

Damn me, Puss-in-Boots, right down there.

I reflect on the vagaries of fame as we make our way along and decide that I'd much rather be a living nobody than a hanged person of renown, rotting away on some gibbet like poor old Captain Kidd, but still, it doesn't hurt to have some possibly sympathetic souls aboard.

We reach the door to the Captain's cabin and Sergeant Gibbs knocks lightly upon it. The door is opened by a white-jacketed steward and we are ushered in.

I see that there are a number of men standing in the room—Captain Hudson, a red-coated Marine officer who I suspect is Major Stebbins, the vile Bliffil, Dr. Sebastian, and another man whose face I cannot see for he stands with his back to me, gazing out one of the windows.

It is plain that the Doctor has been speaking. "...And it is my considered medical opinion, Captain," he intones, "that if you keep the female down in that hellhole, what you will be delivering to the Admiralty will not be the desired captive but rather a corpse."

"And it is my considered opinion, Sir," says Bliffil, "that it would be foolish to grant this girl any degree of freedom, for she has shown herself very adept at the art of escape. She is a very dangerous criminal."

The Captain looks over at me—I soften the Look by opening my eyes wider and lightly rattle the chain that hangs from my wrists—"She doesn't look dangerous to me."

"Do not let her looks deceive you," retorts my once and present enemy. "By her own hand and through her cunning, she has caused the deaths of many men."

The Captain says nothing to this but only stands regarding me for a while, his hands behind his back. Finally he addresses me. "I have been informed by my Sailing Master, Mr. Jared—"

Jared? Joseph Jared? Could it be?

The man at the window turns, and my heart leaps to see that it is indeed he!

"Oh, Joseph," I cry, tears of happiness springing from my eyes. "Well met! Oh, so very well met!" I want to rush to him, to embrace him, but, alas, I am restrained.

He smiles that familiar and fondly remembered cocky grin at me, bows, and says, "It is good to see you, too, Jacky, but best not to interrupt the Captain."

So I really did hear that last night!

"Ahem," says the Captain. "If I may continue: Mr. Jared, one of my more valuable and trusted officers, informs me that in spite of the charges against your name and the wild stories about your supposed adventures that circulate throughout the fleet, you are a person of honor."

I tear my eyes off Joseph and turn to the Captain and try to restore some semblance of the Look, but not the total highborn arrogant lady Look, no, more the Joan-of-Arc-Bound-Up-in-Chains-by-Her-Cruel-Tormentors-but-Still-Holding-Up-Her-Head Look.

"I try to be good, Sir," I say.

"Oh, spare me," Bliffil mutters.

"And Dr. Sebastian tells me you might be useful to him in cataloging and rendering drawings of the specimens that he has gathered during this voyage. What do you think of that?"

"I would very much like to lend what poor skills I might have to aid the good Doctor in his scientific studies," murmur I, glancing at the Doctor and further altering the Look to that of adoring student.

"See, she's doing it again," Bliffil hisses. "Soon she'll have every stupid man on board this ship totally in love with her! That's how she works! Oh, don't you see? Can't you see?" He is wringing his hands, imploring the Captain to see the error of his ways.

The Captain ignores him.

"Do you swear, girl," says Captain Hudson, looking me square in the eye, "that if you are released from the brig and given other quarters and some light duties with Dr. Sebastian that you will not try to escape?"

I think about this for a moment
—take it! Take it, girl, and get out of that hole
!—but I do not take the offer.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot promise that," I answer, as I raise my manacled hands to my face to wipe away yet another tear.

"Oh?" asks the Captain, surprised. "But why not?"

"Because, Sir, if I were to do that, I would be sealing my own death warrant." I look down at my bound hands. "For if I fall into the clutches of the Intelligence Branch upon our return to London, they will torture me to find out what I know about a certain spy ring, and I have already told them everything I can about that and cannot tell them any more, but they will not believe me so they will hurt me more and more"—I start gasping for air—"and more, and when they are convinced that I can give them no additional information, they will kill me—either privately with a knife to the throat, or publicly with a hanging at Newgate prison. That is why not."

There are stricken looks all around the room.

"Torture?" asks the Captain, incredulous. "Surely not."

"Dr. Sebastian," I say, "in your examination of my person, did you not find several marks on my left thigh?"

The Doctor coughs and says, "Yes, there were two round wounds there, healing nicely. I assumed they were gotten from sparks from a fireplace."

"They were not, Sir," I retort. "They were put there last month on the Mississippi River by a Lieutenant Flashby, Special Agent of the Intelligence Branch. He applied the tip of his hot cigar to my bare leg while I was tied to a chair, and he was going to hurt me more when he was thwarted in that by a gallant
regular
officer, Lord Richard Allen, Captain of Cavalry. I have no reason to expect any kinder treatment when I get to the Admiralty."

"Hmm," says the Captain, "that is hard to believe, but I will take you at your word. What is to be done then? Must we put you back in the brig?"

"Yes," says Bliffil, "that is what is to be done. And I must insist that I be given a key to the cell."

I notice that Joseph Jared is no longer smiling but, rather, is glaring intently at Lieutenant Bliffil.

I lift my head and say to the Captain, "We can do this: I will give my word, my parole, as it were, that I will not try to escape until that moment when we sight land. After that, my parole will be over, and you may clap me back in chains and deliver me to Mr. Bliffil here and to whatever fate awaits me at the Admiralty." When I finish, I say, "Only if it suits you, Sir."

"Well, it doesn't suit me," says Bliffil. "This female must be put in my protective custody right now."

This is too much for me. "Protective custody? Captain, this man Bliffil is the one who put this mark upon my brow when I was but a little girl on the
Dolphin.
He's the bully who, as Senior Midshipman, pounded my face and bloodied my mouth and kicked in two of my ribs! All for sport! Protective custody? I'd sooner consign myself to the sharks that roll by our side than be put in his so-called
protective
custody!"

"She is twisting things again!" cries Bliffil. "When that happened, she was disguised as a ship's boy, a very insolent ship's boy who was very much in need of correction, I—"

"You will be quiet, Mr. Bliffil," orders the Captain. To me he says, "Very well, I accept those terms, if you will also promise not to harm yourself in any way during this voyage, to avoid what you think is going to happen to you."

"Sir, I love life too much to ever consider that."

"Good. Then it is done," says the Captain, briskly taking care of the details. "Mr. Jared has given up his cabin for you so you will be quartered there. You will take your meals there. You will assist the Doctor in all his endeavors, and you may take the air above decks several times a day for the sake of your health. Major Stebbins, you will provide a Marine outside her door, who will accompany her wherever she goes upon this ship."

The Marine officer bows his acknowledgment of this order and the Captain continues. "And you will, Miss Faber, above all things, behave yourself, else you shall be returned to the brig for the duration of the voyage."

"Sir, I must most vigorously protest!" sputters Bliffil. "She is a convicted criminal! You cannot grant her the freedom of this ship."

"She has not been convicted of anything yet, Mr. Bliffil, as far as I can tell, and I can do anything I damn well please on my ship, including having you thrown over the side," says the Captain, fixing Bliffil with a baleful look. Bliffil turns red and tightens his lips. "And again I caution you not to raise your voice to me, Mr. Bliffil. British Intelligence does not hold much sway here, I can tell you that. I have always felt that gentlemen, be they English or be they French, should not read each other's mail."

"But, Sir..."

"You are excused, Mr. Bliffil," says Captain Hudson, turning his back on him. "Your presence here is no longer required."

"As you wish, Sir," mutters Bliffil, bowing at the Captain's back. "Good day to you then."

Bliffil fixes a glare of the purest hatred on me, and though I have the urge to smile and give him a knowing wink, I restrain myself and merely put the full-scale Look back on and regard him as if he were a toad. From his furious expression, I gather that he got the message.